Kate & Richard
by Doppelganger472
Summary: Loosely based on the movie 'Kate & Leopold.'  Someone's killing young professionals in copycat murders of aristocrats in 18th century NYC.  Could the killer be a man out of time?  Caskett with a side of mystery!
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Kate & Richard**

**Author: Doppelganger472**

**Rating: T  
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**Summary: Someone's killing up-and-coming young professionals in NYC in a throw-back to murders of aristocrats in 18th century NYC. The crime scenes are shockingly similar, and details are coming out that were never released to the public. As Beckett and the team chase down leads, could it be that their murderer is a man out of time? Completely A/U, there's some Caskett-y goodness coming up, and probably Lanie/Esposito, Ryan/Jenny.  
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_A/N: Welcome to my first fanfic! I have no idea if anyone's even going to read this, but I hope that anyone who does finds it enjoyable. I'm not a fiction writer – ZERO experience in that department – but I feel like I've read so many good stories on here, I know just how the best ones should go. That said, if I screw this up royally, please feel free to tell me. Any ideas, suggestions, and questions are welcomed. Love it? Hate it? Need a tutor? Leave a review and let me know! (I used to tutor almost every subject, but I'm kidding about tutoring you. Unless you really want to hire me as your tutor. I need a job!) Also, on the off chance that you want to submit this to some other site or something, please ask first._

_Oh yeah, the story … a few quick notes. This is loosely based on the movie Kate & Leopold, so if you've seen the movie, you have an idea of what might happen in this story. Maybe. Like I said, the key words are "loosely based on" – you'll recognize some plot points along the way, and hopefully be pleasantly surprised by new twists. Also, I've seen this done in a few other TV show genres – if it's too close to something you've read/written, please tell me! I work in the law, and thus I feel the need to disclaim EVERYTHING, so here goes: if you recognize it, it's not mine! I have no money, so please don't sue me. I just take the characters out and play with them for a while, and then put them neatly back in their boxes. I don't have any rights in Castle, Kate & Leopold, or anything else remotely recognizable. No infringement is intended. Only the random plot ramblings and dialogue are mine. Well, most of the dialogue, anyway …_

_Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>New York City, 1876<strong>

Richard was bored. It wasn't uncommon for him; as a general rule, those of his social class were masters of genteel leisure. It was a kind way to say that they kept busy doing nothing of importance. Frankly, he found the charade tiring. His mind was constantly whirring, contemplating new things to write about – for he was a chronic note-taker with years of filled journals to show for it. The idle chatter of those around him, of the news and the people in their wide circle of acquaintances within New York's upper crust, often made his mind veer wildly off track in flights of fancy about their tragedies, secrets, and joys. Richard preferred happy, satisfying conclusions in the tales he wove, but often his thoughts dead-ended on the tragedies. He wrote about these things as a way to settle his swirling thoughts. However, as the fifth Duke of Cambridge, Richard was expected to be the consummate gentleman, which meant that writing could not be part of his public persona. His mother said that working as a common author was below his station, but Richard was convinced that productivity had to be worth more than the idle chatter that currently surrounded him.

"…and certainly, it's appalling! I suppose it's only to be expected in a city this size, but it is always shocking to hear. Wouldn't you agree, darling?" The question fell on deaf ears. She tried again, "Richard!" Irked, she tapped him on the shoulder, calling his name again.

He jumped. "Yes, Mother?"

"The murders. There was another one, you know. Yesterday, the family's butler discovered the Earl of Westover, murdered in cold blood, in the wine cellar. Imagine! How frightening, to think that the son of the Duke of Sussex should meet such an unexpected end. In his own home! It's enough to give one the vapors, that your own home is not safe from intrusion!"

"Mother, try not to let your imagination carry you off. Whatever will people think if they hear you carrying on so?" He smiled gently at his mother, to show her he was only teasing her for her breach of "Martha's Rules of Etiquette." She believed in an unruffled public appearance, and her emphatic reaction indicated that she was unsettled by the recent events.

"Richard, I'm just worried about you. What if the rumors are true? What if someone is murdering royal titles? Have you forgotten that you are a Duke?"

On his mother's other side, he heard a soft snicker from Alexis. Despite Martha's iron hand in grooming Alexis, his daughter retained wit and mischief in equal shares. That Richard had _forgotten_ he was a Duke was preposterous, and they all knew it.

"A Duke, you say? Me? Can't say I remembered that." He sobered at the icy sparks in her crystal blue eyes. "I can't imagine why someone would care to murder me, Mother. I don't produce ideas or products that compete with anyone, I do not publish incendiary opinions in the newspaper, and am rarely noticed by the public for any reason beyond that I throw a splendid dinner party. They'd have absolutely no motive to murder me, unless the cakes at tea were lopsided, or the silver did not glow. You'd never stand for that, so I'm not going to worry."

"Richard, your _charming_ manner with the well-bred women in this city, and probably less refined ones as well, is enough for a hoard of displeased fathers and husbands to chase you down with pitchforks like vigilantes." His mother's tone left no question as to how his romantic escapades measured up against Martha's Rules. Alexis graced the room with a real laugh that chimed like bells. It stopped abruptly when Martha set her stern glare on the girl.

"Women aside, I'm sure there's nothing for us to fear. I'd wager the butler did it. In fact, the butlers all across the city are colluding to remove their exacting employers because they still carry a grudge over the 'War of the Insurrection.' They're eliminating New York City aristocrats so that they can sell their employers' heirlooms and be free of English tyranny! It's their own form of reverse gentrification – bettering their society by eliminating the gentry. It's … it's …"

"Preposterous! And you know it. Honestly, Richard, can't you take this seriously?"

Soberly, Alexis spoke up. "Grandmama, times are trying with the thought of a murderer loose in the city. He's simply trying to bring some levity to the situation."

"Your father has always suffered from an overly-vivid imagination. Before coming here from England, he tormented me for weeks with tales of savages and uprisings of the masses, and all manner of outlandish things. He could have a little respect, as America offers an excellent opportunity for you to find a gentleman of means to marry, and is perhaps his last chance to find a suitable wife."

Alexis, ruffled at the thought of marrying, quickly decided whose side she favored in this argument. "Father, you forgot to mention that it's a shame only the industrious younger sons in noble families are being murdered. Last week you said that had the murderer preyed on the idle, dilettante eldest sons, he would be doing New York a public service to be rewarded with a hero's parade."

Martha huffed indignantly, and flew out of her seat. Tersely, she muttered that Richard grew more unmanageable with each day, and that Alexis was aging her beyond her years, as she marched stiffly out of the room.

Turning to her father, Alexis smiled gently and received a real grin in return. She loved her grandmother, but Alexis showed a clear preference for her doting father, and repaid his kindness by bucking Martha's Rules and acting as her father's coconspirator. "Do you really think there's a murderer targeting titled families?"

"I don't know, Alexis. I hope not, because wanton waste of life is a crime, literally and figuratively. I've been unable to think of much else lately, because the crimes are so insidious and the murderer is like smoke in the breeze. The police are unable to move forward in each new case because there simply isn't any evidence to start with. But are you implying that I should be more nervous, given the situation?" At her small nod, he said, "I promise you, there's nothing to worry about. I'm monitoring the newspapers and checking daily with the staff to make sure that they are as vigilant as I that nothing should happen in this house." Richard took his daughter's hand and softly kissed the back of it, his proof of the promise that she was safe because her father would protect her.

Alexis sighed softly and nodded. "I think I'll look for Grandmama. Perhaps she's settled down by now. It's almost dinner time, and you know how much it pleases her to issue orders in the kitchen. Do you know what the staff calls her?"

Richard was well aware, but shook his head in response, just to see what Alexis would do. Her eyes darted around, as if to be sure that her grandmother wasn't hiding behind a potted plant or wing-back chair, and whispered with wide eyes, "They call her 'The Grand Damn.'"

Richard chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he recalled his mother's antics. Lightly chiding his daughter's language, he agreed that it was indeed an appropriate title for the feisty red head who ruled the family's brownstone. She certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Richard shook his head, hoping that his daughter would retain the sparkle currently in her eye as he excused himself to put his latest musings on the murders into his journal.

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><p><strong>New York City, Present Day<strong>

Kate Beckett cursed her timing as she struggled with her purse, an umbrella, her cell phone, and an oversized latte. Normally, she was awake at 5 am and managed to get her first cup of coffee when the city's coffee houses were blessedly empty. Today, however, she was running an hour late after oversleeping, and the torrential rain was not helping. It seemed like every person in the city had sought shelter in this particular coffee shop. She told the barista to keep the change and turned to look for a path to the exit. Cursing herself again, she knew if she hadn't stayed at the precinct until she dozed off over her files around 3am, she wouldn't have overslept after finally heading home.

As a New York homicide detective, Beckett had seen her fair share of the gruesome, senseless, and truly puzzling things humans do to one another. Even she had to admit, this particular case was Beckett-flavored. She always gave Esposito a hard time whenever he pulled out that term, but she took pride in the fact that she (almost) always got her man. Her team had the highest case closure rate of any in the city, and their creative crime solving had become something of a legend in the Force. The Twelfth Precinct was consulted routinely in bizzare cases. The qualifying murder du jure was one of a larger pattern across the city, and because of that, the whole stack had landed on her desk. With her thoughts already on her whiteboard, Beckett never saw the wall in front of her until it was too late.

Dropping her umbrella and fumbling with her phone, Beckett managed to only splash half of the front of her blouse when she collided with the tall man. Looking up, Beckett almost grimaced, but settled for a rue smile. The wall she'd just hit was her former boyfriend. Of course, today of all days… it wasn't as if she didn't see Demming around the office. She did. It wasn't as if she didn't care about him while they dated. She did. And it wasn't as if there was someone else who'd rushed in and swept her off her feet. There most certainly wasn't. Beckett couldn't put her finger on it, but for as much as she liked Demming, she felt like she was missing some golden opportunity by dating him. He was hurt and puzzled by her sudden about-face, but was too much of a gentleman to demand why she was breaking up with him. Gentleman that he was, he began to apologize profusely as she reclaimed her errant possessions.

"Becks, I'm sorry! I tried calling your name, but you didn't hear me. There was nowhere to go…" he finished lamely, as she tucked her phone into her purse. "Let me get you another drink, Kate." He looked at her hopefully, as if physically running into him were going to somehow knock loose old feelings for him. On any other day, Beckett might have been inclined to apologize for not watching her step, or let him buy her coffee, but she was at an impasse in the case and her tardiness grated on her nerves. Now she had to go home and change, and would be both under-caffeinated and late to the precinct. Fantastic.

"Demming, maybe some other time. I'm late. I gotta go." She shrugged her trenchcoat closed over her stained blouse, and turned on her heel. The look on her face told him that her mind was already back on a case, leaving Demming to wonder whether he'd ever have another chance to win over the detective who'd just stamped out into the rain.

On the street, Beckett's thoughts whirled as she took a second to contemplate how Demming could still want to date her. She'd told him she wasn't interested in being anything more than friendly coworkers. Shaking her head, she decided not to dwell on it and instead focus on the task at hand. Clean up, get to the precinct, solve this murder.

She knew the day was only going to get worse when Esposito and Ryan didn't razz her for being uncharacteristically late. Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan, her team, were the epitome of cop partners, and tag teamed her with their sarcastic humor almost as often as they breathed. They were a solid, intuitive partnership, and often used their humor to keep a tough job from becoming overwhelming, but not today. They were so engrossed in trying to make leads appear out of thin air, they barely even looked up to say good morning. The team was starting to wear out, and Beckett was beginning to question whether they'd get a lead before reaching their breaking point.

Beckett gripped her coffee cup in both hands and took a long draught as she moved toward the white board. Esposito tapped a file on the desk beside her. "We've gone through the cases so many times, the papers are starting to shred. We got nothin'. Did you find anything last night, while you were absorbing the files by osmosis?" The hint of humor brought a fleeting smile that only reached the corners of Beckett's mouth as she recalled waking up face-down in a file on her desk at 3am.

"I did, in fact. I figured out that I shouldn't steal your leftover Chinese out of the fridge – it gives me vivid dreams of actually solving this damn case!"

"Hey, that was my lunch for today!"

"It wasn't that good, anyway. You'd be better off grabbing a sandwich somewhere."

"Sure, spot me a ten?"

"In your dreams, Esposito. You owed me after eating my bear claw the other week. Don't' think I didn't figure out that it was you."

Esposito shrugged his shoulders and put his hands up. "Yeah, yeah, sure you did. Ryan's such a snitch! Bro can't even count on his own partner…" She shook her head in mock sympathy, and stepped back from the white board. "I'm gonna see if Ryan's got anything." Esposito sauntered off to find the better half of his Bromance, as Beckett called it.

Beckett relaxed a little. The caffeine was starting to enter her bloodstream, and the heckling from her teammate gave her mood a boost. Ready to dive in, she flipped open the file and scanned the documents from the first of six murders they were handling. This had been the case that threw her team into the purgatory through which they now wandered. Two weeks ago, they'd been called to a scene that left them puzzled. It wasn't gruesome or depraved; it was uncharacteristically neat, and had obviously been very carefully staged. It was almost like looking at a dollhouse, except it was full size and they could stand in the middle of it. The victim, Charles Carpenter, was a 34 year old accountant at a large financial firm in Manhattan. He'd graduated from Wharton, and quickly climbed his firm's ladder to become their youngest associate partner by consistently outperforming his peers and superiors. He came from old New York money, and his family was splashed across Page Six on a semi-regular basis. As the stable and practical youngest son of three children, Charles managed to keep himself out of the paper, but Beckett had immediately connected him to his older sisters' shenanigans by his name.

The sisters may have been party animals, but one look at the crime scene was enough to tell anyone that their brother was the polar opposite. The most interesting thing about the crime scene was how everything screamed "normal." The body itself was sitting upright in a leather executive chair behind a massive walnut desk. She was no expert, but Beckett knew that the understated grace in the hand-worked design of the desk made it a highly valuable antique, probably over 100 years old. It smacked of wealth and prestige. Mr. Carpenter sat at the desk in death as in life – pen in hand, calculator at the ready, financial documents spread across the blotter. His employer confirmed that the documents were for Mr. Carpenter's current client, and thus far did not seem to be relevant in the case. Trace had swept the entire house, and all that they had come up with was an unidentified fiber and a smudged partial print. Although Mr. Carpenter was single, his household staff knew his routine and told the team that their employer lived a quiet life, was dedicated to his work, and that they had observed nothing out of the ordinary in the days prior to the murder.

"Maybe the butler _did_ do it…" Beckett muttered to herself. The butler had come back clean in the investigation they'd done, but it hadn't kept Ryan from quipping that in high society murders, the butler was always the one who did it. She'd silenced him with a level gaze, and reminded him that they were NYC homicide detectives, and he could save his 'Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick' theories for his own time.

Ryan popped up at her shoulder with a grin, obviously remembering the same conversation, and deadpanned, "But Carpenter wasn't offed in the library with a candlestick. He was strangled in the study!" Beckett swatted him with the file and turned to the murder board. Or rather, multiple murder boards. Since the Carpenter case, they'd had 5 other murders that they determined were connected because of the victim profiles and scene setups. As her eyes swept the boards, she asked Ryan, "So what do we have?"

"Like Esposito said, we got nothin'. At least, nothing new today. As of yesterday, we've got 6 vics, all young and talented professionals, all found strangled in their homes, posed as if they were in the middle of their daily routine.

"First is Christopher Carpenter, 34, workaholic accountant at a downtown firm, found strangled and posed at the desk in his home office, with a pen in his hand and his work in front of him. Second is Julia Thorndale, 29, up-and-coming real estate broker who catered to the wealthy and famous, also strangled and posed on the living room couch like she was rearranging pillows. Her clipboard of houses to show the next day was on the coffee table in front of her, briefcase on the floor beside it, and she was still dressed in a suit and heels. Third is Sarah Flemmington, 33, CEO of a small green technology start-up in Manhattan, found strangled and propped against the controls for her penthouse's solar power panels. Fourth, Henry Lawrence, 37, successful day trader, despite the market problems, found strangled and posed with a glass of wine in hand and the stock section of the _Times_ open in front of him in his den. Fifth, John Powell, 27, rising star in the D.A.'s office, two years out of Columbia Law and already sizing up a political run in the next few years, found strangled and seated on the floor of the living room in front of the fireplace, case files spread around him. Finally, sixth victim is Natalie Blakewell, 32, director of marketing and sales for Dior, found strangled and posed in her home studio at a drafting table to look like she was working on mock-ups of ads for Dior's fall line."

"So what commonalities do we have, besides young, successful, and dead?" Beckett rubbed her temples as Ryan continued.

"They were all strangled, but there were no significant fibers or trace to indicate what the killer used, and the marks aren't like anything we've seen before. The tox panels all came back negative for sedatives and the like, but Lanie's post-mortem reports the lack of defensive wounds indicates that the victims knew the killer, and although they struggled, they were taken by surprise, from behind most likely. Each person had a net worth of at least $3 million, with the exception of Powell, who was a trust fund kid getting a hefty annual stipend. Every one of them has household staff who knew them better than their families. They all lack significant others, are not particularly close to their families, and are typically described as "workaholics" by friends and acquaintances. There seems to be no motive for killing any of them, though. It's bizzare, it's like someone killed them because they were hard-working rich guys. We haven't found any reason in their work lives that suggests a career-related motive for any of them. So basically, the overwhelming similarity between crime scenes and the strange strangle marks are why we're 99% sure they're related."

"Good job, Ryan. Thanks. I know we've dug into their financials already, but let's take a closer look at them and see if there's any questionable banking history, or whether there might be some other financial motivation to murder these people. Greed would make sense here; maybe someone stood to benefit from their deaths. Check everything you can find, as far back as you can."

"On it, boss." Ryan headed toward Esposito's desk to fill in his partner and start reexamining bank statements. Beckett also headed to her desk, and put Carpenter's file on top of the other five already there. She knew they were missing something here – but what?

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><p><em>AN: Whew! First chapter done! Confession: I picked Duke of Cambridge as Castle's title _before_ I found out it was the title Queen Elizabeth gave to Prince William upon his marriage and decided not to change it. Funny story, I was once in an honor guard for QE2, so I have a great fondness for her…but that minute brush with royalty aside, I know nothing about royalty, so mistakes in the story on that front are mine. I researched a bit about how they are given, and the appropriate ways to address them, but like _Kate & Leopold_, I'm going to use made-up titles. Please correct any errors you see if you know more about this than me!_

_I'm going to try to post chapters as fast as I can write them (Ch. 2 is almost finished), but it's finals time, and I have a ridiculously hard summer ahead. I've heard that reviews can help coax timid muses, so if you enjoyed the chapter, you know the drill :) Thanks for reading!  
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	2. Chapter 2

**New York City, 1876**

Richard didn't realize just how much time had passed until he looked up and saw the moonlit yard outside his window. After dinner, he had bid his family good night, and retreated to his office to write. The latest murder weighed on his mind; the Earl of Westover wasn't a particular friend of his, but they had been in the same circle since they were in grammar school. The wantonness of it was tragic, especially given his brilliance.

Andrew Lawrence was the younger of the two sons of the Duke of Sussex, and from an early age had shown an aptitude for business. Since he would not inherit the dukedom or family fortune, this ability was fortunate for Andrew. He had attended Harvard, but decided to come home to the family fold and the family business. The Lawrence family tree was one of the more interesting noble ones, because the Duke's father had married into his title. Andrew's grandmother had been a Duchess in her own right, a title passed to her through many generations since one of her female ancestors had been a lady in waiting who had saved Queen Elizabeth's life. The title had been granted to that ancestor by the Queen as a royal favor for the lady's extraordinary bravery, and passed through the oldest child, male or female. Andrew's father's line was also notable for practically being American royalty – his paternal great-great grandfather was Augustine H. Lawrence, one of the 24 brokers who signed the Buttonwood Agreement in 1792 to form the New York Stock & Exchange Board, which had recently been renamed the New York Stock Exchange. All of the men in Andrew's family line had been stock brokers, with the exception of the Duke.

Richard had played cards with Andrew and a few others at the Club about two weeks before. He hadn't noticed anything unusual about the Earl, although Richard wouldn't be one to know. But that hadn't stopped the police from asking him about Andrew anyway.

Richard had a history with the New York police force. He once had a bit much to drink during his Columbia days, and had taken a dare to steal a police horse and ride through Central Park. Completely naked. Fortunately, the police were happy to keep the incident quiet for a tidy sum, but not before Richard spent the night sleeping off his liquor at the police precinct. His experience ended with an interesting twist: while in lock-up, he passed the time talking to his cellmate, who had been arrested for a bank robbery two days prior. Richard gained the respect of the officers when he proved to them that the man in lock-up was innocent. The police had followed a trail of blood from a sharp edge on the damaged bank vault door to the spot where they had arrested the suspect, yet this man had no cuts anywhere on his body.

Richard had read the newspaper account of the arrest, and had seen the bank vault in person the day of the robbery, as it was the institution that managed the Castle accounts. It appeared that the robber had severely cut himself while breaking into the vault, judging by the steady drip pattern that entered the vault and doubled back to continue through the front door of the bank. The police had been floored by Castle's statement, and dumbfounded when their subsequent examination of the suspect proved the man did not have a mark on him. They had arrested the suspect at the end of the blood trail with a few bloody bills scattered around him and a smear of blood on the front of his shirt, figuring that kind of evidence was as good as catching him in the act. All the police would need to do was break him to find out where the money was, but no matter what they had tried, the man had insisted that he had no idea where the money was, and that he hadn't robbed the bank. He claimed a man had bumped into him, and dropped some money in the process, just before the cops arrived. Once this story proved true, the officers released the suspect, chagrined at their own ineptitude. Later that day, the police found the real robber by checking with city physicians for a man matching their description who'd come in for stitches, at Richard's suggestion. The police were grateful to Richard for his help, and afterward they asked him questions about puzzling evidence in a few other cases. Thus, Richard was able to use his powers of observation and his place within society for the greater good. It was an occasional, but beneficial relationship.

Richard looked over his journal again, and decided he'd been at it long enough for one night. A quick check of his pocket watch confirmed that it was now quarter after eleven. For days, he had stayed up until nearly midnight, poring over newspaper clippings he had collected and notes he had taken on the recent murders. The police had asked him about the victims, as they knew he was generally acquainted with each of them and trusted Richard's word. He was able to provide insight into a world from which the police had a hard time getting useful answers. In return, Richard had gained some inside information about the murders from those discussions that he kept private, but had recorded in his journal to examine at his leisure. He also had meticulous notes from the one scene he had visited, a testament to something he tried desperately to forget.

Richard sighed as his mind wandered into the past. Juliana Regent had been the closest woman to Richard's heart, besides Mother and Alexis. She had been the second person murdered, and the trigger for his unhealthy interest in the case. They had known each other for a dozen years, acquaintances through Richard's schoolmate and Juliana's brother, James Regent. As James and Richard grew up, Juliana had started as a tag-along younger sister, eager to play rough-and-tumble games and get into scrapes with the boys, before growing into a heart-stopping beauty. Of medium stature, curvaceous, with honey-colored waves that fell to her waist, her grey eyes had always snapped with life, as her tongue had always snapped with wit. She often took Richard and James to task as teens for the impossible situations they got themselves into, and as an adult, was both patient and humorous enough to keep the men on an even keel when society made rebels of them.

As an only child, Richard adored his 'adopted' younger sister, and while James was away at Yale, he had watched over her as any older brother should. Occasionally, the two were rumored to be courting within the salacious gossip columns of city's news rags. The two had settled into a comfortable relationship of confidantes, however, not that of lovers. So, Richard had spent many years falling in and out of courtship with many women, although he had never been emotionally connected to them the way he had been with Juli. She was well aware, as they didn't need to discuss it for her to know his secrets. They knew a marriage of their two houses would be welcomed, but neither one had ever been willing to risk the camaraderie they so enjoyed to take the first step. Their special bond, and all thoughts of anything more, disappeared the day Juliana had been found strangled to death in the family's home.

_Richard had intended to call on Juliana for afternoon tea, as he did at least once a week. He hadn't expected to see the police wagon outside the family's brownstone. James' father had silently opened the door to Richard's knock, looking worn and completely broken. Richard hadn't even said hello when the older man turned and limped away down the hall. James appeared, looking more sober than Richard had ever seen._

"_Where's Juli? What's going on, James?" James averted his eyes, and silently drew Richard into the parlor. The police were bunched by Juli's writing desk in the corner, the girl's once lively body draped across the table top. The volumes of her poetry and short stories still marched along the shelf above the desk, papers spread across the blotter and floor. The shimmering honey tresses were tangled and limp._

_James turned his head and whispered, "Who would do such a thing?"_

_Still in shock, Richard cleared his throat once, twice, and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. He tried again. "Ah…"_

"_Please don't, Ricky."_

"_Why Juli?"_

"_I don't know. I wasn't home."_

_Richard's neck almost snapped, as his head pivoted from the crime scene to the face of his friend. "What do you mean, you weren't home? You were supposed to protect her, damn it!"_

"_I had no idea!"_

"_She needed you!"_

"_If you're so damned concerned, why didn't you make it _your_ job to protect her?"_

_Richard's face blanched as he saw red and his vision swam. "I _did_ protect her. All the years you were away. Even when we were younger and you did stupid, reckless things that almost hurt her. Killed her!"_

"_Don't you blame this on me, Richard! She wasn't my responsibility. Talk to Father, he was on the grounds. I wasn't home." James moved to turn away, but Richard grabbed his arm to yank him back._

_CRACK!_

_Richard stared at his hand in shock. He had just slapped his best friend. James stood frozen, the angry shape of Richard's hand appearing in red on his cheek. A police officer had rushed across the room to separate the men, but Richard stepped away._

"_I'm sorry."_

"_I know you loved her, Ricky. You're a fool. She loved you, too. Maybe you would have done a better job protecting her as your wife than I've done as her brother. Then again, you always were the better man."_

_James turned on his heel and left the room. Richard was puzzled by his friend's behavior, but given the situation, he didn't dwell on it. Richard couldn't string two thoughts together, no less make two steps to move out of the room. The police officer by his side startled him by calling his name._

"_I'm sorry for your loss, Your Grace. Since you knew the lady, would you be willing to give a statement? We've spoken to all her family members, but it seems you're about as close…"_

"_Was."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Was as close. Or almost." The police officer held his hands up, as if to say _mea culpa_. "Yes, I'll tell you about Juli."_

That had been three weeks ago. Richard had given his statement to one of the police officers he was acquainted with who was on the scene. No, he hadn't seen her in the last week. No, no one bore her ill will. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been her beautiful, spirited self. She had been making plans to visit a married friend of hers in Boston the week after her murder. Although her family had noted that Juliana was a prolific writer, it was Richard who told them that the window into Juliana's soul was her writing. He suggested they collect her poetry and stories as evidence if they wanted to know her frame of mind before she died. With a choked sob, Richard had looked over the crime scene once, absorbing the details. He brushed his hand gently over her hair, and walked out of the house without looking back.

Richard spent the three nights after Juli's murder putting every single detail he could remember from the scene into his journal. His eidetic memory served him well, giving him nearly perfect recall of the scene, and of his conversations with James and the police. His memory also damned him to restless nights reliving the scene, and vivid nightmares in which he heard Juli calling for him, but in which he never arrived in time to help. The ache hadn't diminished much in the last three weeks, but he had stopped wandering the house in a fugue after four days. He had scared Alexis and Mother with his vacant look and wanderings, and remembering what had happened to Juli, he vowed to let nothing happen to his mother and daughter. He had become vigilant in the protection of his house and prodigal in his study of the ensuing murders.

Roused from his memories by the hall clock striking midnight, Richard stepped toward his dressing room to prepare for bed. He needed sleep if he was ever going to unravel this snarled mess.

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, Present Day<strong>

"Yo, Beckett, come take a look!" Esposito yelled.

Beckett crossed the bullpen to where Esposito and Ryan were hunched in front of a computer screen. They'd been looking into financials for the better part of four hours without success. The look on Ryan's face told Beckett that whatever they found had potential to be a game changer.

"So we looked into everyone's financials, searching for any trace of extortion or blackmail payments, questionable deposits, the whole shebang. We were so busy with that, we never poked too closely into John Powell's trust fund until today." Beckett raised her eyebrow at Ryan, and he shrugged, continuing, "Turns out, the guy came into the money on his 21st birthday, when he reached the age of majority for the trust his paternal grandmother set up for him. We know the Powells are pretty connected in the city's political scene, but it turns out, they got nothing on the grandmother's family. She set up a trust in Powell's name when he was born, not long before his father passed away. The grandmother was a Rothschild."

"Whoa, big-time old New York money there. So no pressure on him to run for office or anything…" Beckett shook her head.

Ryan continued, "The grandmother was the last person living from one of the two branches of the family, until she passed away ten years ago. She'd established the trust to pass along the family wealth to the last person in her direct family line, her only grandson. Turns out Mr. Powell was receiving upward of $5 million a year from the trust, and in another year, the $300 million in the trust was to be turned over to him fully."

"Wow! That right there is motive enough for murder. Where would the money go if Powell wasn't in the picture? You said there's another side of the family out there, right?" Beckett asked.

Ryan shot Esposito a glance, and Esposito nodded his head toward Beckett. "Yeah, the money would go to the other side of the family, based on the trust terms."

"Did you figure out who it goes to?" Beckett asked sharply, irritated with this song and dance. She was completely unprepared for Esposito's answer.

"To Julia Thorndale, victim number two."

* * *

><p><em>Suspense! So this chapter ended up being a bit of fillerfluff with the Juliana story line, but it needed to make its way into the story somehow. If not, Richard would just be kind of creepy for following all of these murders so closely, since he doesn't have his murder mystery writer persona as an excuse in this story. Castle's character is supposed a cross between Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and his fictitious Sherlock Holmes in this story – in real life, Conan Doyle helped the police solve a few cold cases, which was the inspiration for Castle's 'history' with the police. Not to mention it was a good way to slide in some more character continuity for my lovely reviewers. Expect to see some sleuthing on Castle's part in upcoming chapters! Also, Augustine H. Lawrence really was one of the stock brokers who established the NYSE way back in the 1700's by signing the Buttonwood Agreement (fascinating stuff!). Hopefully he wouldn't mind me killing off a fake descendant of his o.O  
><em>

_Thanks again for reading, and please review! The kind reviews for Chapter 1 inspired me to finish Chapter 2 quickly and post it as a way to say 'thank you.' Hint hint!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything! I'm just taking them out for a test drive, and will return them when I'm done.**

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, Present<strong>

"What?" Beckett was pretty sure she'd misheard Esposito.

Ryan darted a glance at Esposito before answering. "We didn't dig too far into Powell's financials because he only drew on his trust fund. He didn't have any investments that went south, there were no signs of blackmail or extortion in any of his accounts. Hell, he never even contested a credit card charge!

"When we dug deeper, the first thing we did was try to figure out who the trust went to. Because Powell's grandmother set it up, she'd written a term into the trust that if Powell died before he turned 28, the trust would revert back to her family's surviving heirs. Or in this case, heir. Singular. Grandmother Powell's sister married into the Thorndale family and had one surviving relative, her granddaughter, Julia. Victim number 2."

Beckett shook her head slowly back and forth, as this all sunk in. "So who stood to inherit from Julia Thorndale?" The gears in her head were still grinding as she tried to make the new evidence fit the framework.

Esposito shrugged. "She didn't have a will, and we haven't found a next of kin yet, but –"

"There's no one else," Ryan interrupted. Beckett and Esposito's heads swung around comically fast at his statement. Ryan shrugged at them.

"What? I like to read about New York history. The wealth, the prestige, the scandals. Families like the Rothschilds used to dominate this town. They made the city what it is today."

Beckett cocked an eyebrow at him, prompting the answer to her unasked question.

"Julia Thorndale was the last surviving member of the Rothschild line, and had no other family. It was rumored that the Rothschild family was cursed." Esposito's ensuing snort caused Ryan to pause hesitantly. Beckett rolled her eyes, but motioned with her hand for Ryan to continue.

"Grandmother Powell's uncle was murdered in the late 1870's, and the family began to fall apart. Her father was the remaining heir and had no sons. With no boys to carry on the name, the Rothschild line split when Powell's grandmother and Thorndale's grandmother married. They both married only children. Each woman had a number of children who survived to adulthood and married, but a number of tragedies ended their lives short. Julia Thorndale and John Powell were the only surviving grandchildren, and each had no other family."

"Bro, did Jenny steal your manhood or something? I'm going to have to arrest that girl for theft, because you knowing that much about yesteryear's rich and famous just isn't manly." Esposito shook his head while Beckett continued to look perplexed.

"If you knew that much about the Rothschilds, why didn't you say so before?" Beckett questioned.

Ryan ducked his head, looking sheepish. "I knew the back story because the Rothschild murder was one in a pretty notorious rash of murders among New York high society. I didn't know who all the descendants were, or anything. I had to look it up once we found the connection."

"Seriously, bro. You're a disgrace to all self-respecting men. I need to rethink our partnership," Esposito grumbled as he shook his head.

"Dude, the murder case is almost as famous as Jack the Ripper! It was research –"

"Ryan, you are a font of useless knowledge. Next time I need to know about hoop skirts or how to dance the gavotte, I'll be sure to ask you." Beckett chuckled as she headed to the whiteboard, amused by the unexpected morsel of information about her colleague and invigorated by the new lead in the case.

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, 1876<strong>

Alexis crept by his closed study door. Although her steps were like falling feathers, his instinct as a father told him that she was loitering in the hallway outside. Richard stood and sighed, stretching after studying his journals yet again.

Crossing the room, Richard quickly but silently swung the door fully open. Alexis emitted a small squeak of surprise before a warm smile graced her face.

"Father, I didn't mean to interrupt you! It's just that –"

"Alexis, it's alright. I needed to take a break anyway. I didn't mean to spend so much time this morning locked away. I had some thoughts I wanted to work out in writing. It seems time slipped away from me."

"Oh." Her blue eyes shimmered with empathy, knowing that her father still hurt from the loss of Lady Juliana. She was frightened by the murders among her father's friends, and deeply saddened by the loss of a woman who always treated her as a sister. She looked up at her father and suddenly remembered why she had hesitantly approached his study moments before. Perhaps she could help lighten his thoughts with what she was about to relay.

"If you're finished writing for the moment, Grandmama suggested that we take the carriage to Central Park. She said she would like to take a walk. I believe she also said something to the effect that she could put us both on a 'pre-debut display.'" Alexis cringed.

"Ah yes. Mother's subtle way of telling us both that as people of wealth, we must be on display as an example of charming manners _and_ so that we can both find suitable matches. Mother always says –"

"Marriages don't happen by sitting in the dark," Alexis recited with him. She grimaced again.

"Be careful, dear daughter, or your face will stay that way!" Richard affectionately tweaked his daughter's scrunched nose and caused her to laugh, the sound like a peal of bells on a clear day. It lightened Richard's soul to hear it. Goodness knew, the last few days had weighed heavily on him with the murders no closer to being solved.

Richard placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders and steered her toward the stairs. "Run up and get your hat, lest Mother lecture both of us on uncovered heads." This time, Richard shuddered. Alexis laughed again and then turned toward the stairs for her hat. Richard turned to call his stable hand to ready the carriage.

Richard looked around Central Park as his mother and daughter strolled arm-in-arm along the path, their parasols and dresses fluttering like butterfly wings in the light breeze. He couldn't help smiling at the idyllic picture they painted, almost like the painting he'd seen in Paris the year before. A roadside painter – Mornay…no, maybe Monet? The light, fresh colors blending together in the painting had given him a deep sense of peace, just as the scene before him did. He allowed his thoughts to trail off , reveling in the moment.

Richard quickly focused on his family as a young man approached his mother and Alexis. His interest piqued, Richard started to move toward the women. He saw Alexis smile as the young man took Mother's hand and kiss it. A knowing smile crossed Richard's face as he saw the young man introduce himself to his mother and then turn to Alexis with a bow. She returned a graceful curtsey.

"Oh, Father! Come join us!" Alexis called out to Richard, a slight blush kissing her cheeks. Richard knew exactly what was going on. He knew that the boy was Ashley Compton, a son of the Earl of Duquesne. He also knew from the way the boy looked at Alexis that she might not still be available when she finally made her debut. His mother's twinkling eyes told him that she also saw exactly what was happening here.

"Hello, Your Grace. My name is Ashley Compton, it's a pleasure to meet you." Ashley extended his hand to shake Richard's, and won the older man's respect with his tenacity in what must be a nerve wracking situation for him. The boy had introduced himself better than most men Richard's age, and for that he gave the boy credit. Returning the handshake, Richard quirked a smile at the boy to put him at ease. The young man relaxed. A little.

Ashley looked at Richard, not sure what to say next in his nervousness. Alexis came to his rescue.

"Father, Mister Compton stopped to say hello. He remembered me from the picnic we hosted in the Park last year. He spent the better part of the afternoon rescuing all of the young ladies' handkerchiefs from the breeze." Alexis' eyes now twinkled like her grandmother's.

Poor Ashley flushed red, turning to Richard, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of some way to explain himself out of Alexis' portrayal of him. Richard took pity on him and clapped the boy on the shoulder.

"I've always found that small favors to ladies are remembered kindly. You're a smart man, Ashley." Richard nodded at the boy and turned to his family.

"Ladies, I think it's about time we start for home. We wouldn't want to miss our evening meal." Turning to Ashley again, Richard said, "It was a pleasure to meet you. Hopefully, we all will not go another year without seeing you."

Ashley's face lit up. He bowed slightly to Richard, and bid the ladies farewell, before starting down the path again.

As the three wandered toward their carriage, Richard realized that the Regent home was but two blocks away. His morning writing session had been devoted to recording his ruminations on Juliana's murder. A new purpose in mind, Richard stopped in his tracks.

"Mother, please take Alexis home. I just realized I have some business with James that cannot wait. Please don't wait for me to eat. I'll be along presently."

Alexis looked concerned, but she was quickly taken in hand by her grandmother. "Certainly, Richard. Say hello to the Baron for me."

"Mother, he's much too old for you," Richard teased.

His mother just shook her head fondly at him as she bustled Alexis into the carriage.

Richard turned around and took the path toward the Regents' brownstone. There were things about Juli's murder that just didn't quite fit together in his mind. It made Richard uneasy, and he had a few questions that perhaps his friend could help him answer. He steeled himself for what was to come.

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, Present<strong>

Detective Kevin Ryan was a man conflicted. He believed in what he did every day as a cop. To most, 'justice' was a word that had no concrete meaning. Ryan believed it was and should be a pillar of society, which is why he worked so hard to get into homicide. He knew about Beckett's mother's murder. He understood her need to bring justice to victims on a very deep level because it was what drove him to the same career. Unlike Beckett, though, his personal motivations as a homicide detective weren't public knowledge. He'd heard many people in his line of work say that justice is a dish best served cold. Ryan disagreed, driven by white-hot need to put murderers in their place.

He'd always made it a point to live up to the NYPD motto: _Fidelis ad Mortem_. Faithful unto death. He knew more about everything now, thus his perception of 'faithful' was shifting day by day. He knew what he was contemplating right now might be considered unfaithful by his partners. He'd already been less than truthful with them in talking about the murders. He knew far more than they could ever imagine about the "Top Hat Murders" he'd referenced today at the precinct. Right now, it seemed like he was the only one who knew just how deeply intertwined those murders were with their current case.

It was only a matter of time before Beckett and Esposito caught up, which meant Ryan had to act fast. He couldn't be implicated in this whole business. That wouldn't be good for _anyone_ involved. He looked in the mirror and wondered how he had ended up so deep in this. His determination to extricate himself from this mess wavered a moment as he looked over the leather-bound journal he held in his hand. He placed the book firmly and precisely on the nightstand, his decision firm and a glint of steely resolve in his eyes. Ryan unstrapped his service pistol and bent down to exchange it with an antique Colt .45 resting in the nightstand drawer. Straightening, he thought to himself, _There's no turning back now_.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Dun dun dun! First off, I want to apologize for how LONG it took me to get this written and posted. Since the last chapter, I've moved, graduated from grad school, had a car wreck, and started studying for my professional licensing exam at the end of the summer (a full-time job, no joke!) I finally just put aside everything yesterday to get back to this - the story was driving me nuts because it wanted to be on paper. That said, I have a loose idea of the next few chapters – stay tuned, Beckett and Castle will meet soon!_

_You may have noticed that there's a new summary. I think too many people figured this was just a show-style mystery story, so I decided to revamp it in the interest of – well, interest in the story._

_Also, the chapter's a little shorter than the first two, but this will probably be the new normal. I'm going to be limited in time until mid-August, so I'm going to trade long chapters for more frequent updates. The plan is to post something new every Monday – an homage to Castle day ;)_

_Thank you to my lovely reviewers! Please keep reading and reviewing!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! Don't sue me, please!**

_Recap: Previously on K&R, Richard was off to see James about some burning questions about Juli. Beckett and the gang took a crash-course in NYC history, thanks to Ryan, and found the link between some of their present-day victims. And Ryan might be a bad guy…_

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, 1876<strong>

Richard hesitated a moment as he gathered his thoughts. Drawing in a deep breath, he knocked sharply on the door.

The Baron's butler opened the door, and recognizing Richard said, "Good evening, Your Grace. Master James is currently busy. Shall I take a message from you for him?"

"Is he meeting with someone?" Richard asked.

"No, Sir. He's working and does not wish to be interrupted." Richard stood silently contemplating that answer until the butler moved to close the door on him.

Richard stepped into the doorway and blocked the door with his body. "Harold, old man, I'm sure he'll make an exception for an old friend like me. It's extremely urgent."

"But, Sir! He's –"

"As I said, I have urgent business. I'll show myself to his study." Richard maneuvered himself fully into the foyer and was striding down the hall toward James' study before the butler realized what had happened. Richard opened the study door quickly so Harold wouldn't have time to alert James to his presence.

James' head snapped around toward the door as it unexpectedly flew open. Harold appeared just behind Richard, panting in the doorway and attempting to apologize for the intrusion.

"Harold, it's alright. I'm sure Richard meant no harm. That is all." With one last sour glance at Richard, the dismissed butler departed. James glanced warily at Richard while he shuffled the papers littering his desktop. Every sheet was covered in mathematical equations and partially-sketched figures. From where Richard stood, it was a maddening blur.

"May I?" Richard moved to seat himself in one of the leather armchairs in front of the desk. James gave a noncommittal wave toward the chair as Richard sank into it.

"I wanted to see how you're doing, James. And I wanted to apologize for my behavior when I saw you last. It was uncalled for." Richard watched his friend continue to shuffle papers.

Without meeting Richard's eyes, James said, "I figured as much." He paused, then spoke again with a hardened voice. "How am I doing? I'm working. Which I'm sure Harold told you before you broke into my study."

So that was how this was going to go. Richard sighed. He'd been afraid James' normally taciturn disposition would take a turn for the worse with his appearance.

"I'm sorry you're hurting, James. Juli lit up this house, and I know that you're lost without her in it. Your father is, too, I'd imagine. I just wanted to talk –"

"You don't know a damn thing about what I feel, Richard!" James spat, jumping up from his desk. "Don't come into my home, after insulting my honor in the wake of my sister's murder, and tell _me_ what _I'm_ feeling. You have no idea!" he shouted, as he angrily swept all of the papers off of his desk. As the sheets fluttered to the ground, James turned deathly calm and crossed his arms as he turned toward the mullioned window behind the desk.

Richard looked sadly at the mathematical equations that galloped over the scattered papers. "You forget so easily, James. I _do_ know you. I always have. We were like brothers growing up. And we both cared for Juli, so I _know_ you're hurting the way I hurt. The world changes all around us, but believe me, I know you." Richard paused, waiting for another outburst.

"And I know you, Richard, so there's some reason why you're here," James said evenly with his back still toward his friend. "What did you come here for? To insult me? Threaten me? Surely you don't expect me to need a shoulder to cry upon."

"Nothing of the sort, James." Richard sighed, screwing up his courage to ask his friend the question that had been nagging him for days. This could end their friendship; however, Richard couldn't help but succumb to his curiosity.

"Where were you when Juli was murdered?" Richard looked intently at his friend. He didn't miss how his friend's back stiffened at the words.

James turned slowly toward Richard, sparks of anger flashing in his almost-black eyes that were so far different from Juli's warm grey. Richard waited.

"I was away overnight on business. In Philadelphia." It was almost as if a door was closing in James' eyes as he spoke. His eyes registered no emotion that Richard could gauge.

"You know your way out, Richard. I still have work to attend to this evening. Good night." James rested his hands flat on the desktop and stared intently at Richard, his eyes challenging Richard to defy him.

Deciding it best to cut his losses for the evening, Richard stood and nodded in his friend's direction. He retraced his path down the hallway to the front door and slipped out of the house and into the night.

* * *

><p>Sitting in the dark interior of the handsome cab, Richard wasn't sure why he'd followed James. Maybe it was the closed-off look in his eyes when he'd finally answered to his whereabouts. Or perhaps it was the deceit resonating in James' posture. Richard recalled seeing it the day of Juli's murder. He'd instantly recognized the stance upon seeing it again tonight.<p>

He cursed himself for not recognizing that for what it was that day in the parlor – James' tell. James occupied some of Richard's earliest memories in life, and he was chagrined upon realizing that he'd almost missed the man's intentional lie to his face. Richard could only assume the truth was incredibly damning for James to lie so flagrantly to someone who knew him so well. Someone who routinely beat him in poker, given said tell.

That was how Richard came to find himself sitting in a hired carriage parked unobtrusively outside Trinity Church. Richard had hailed the cab upon leaving James' home, and would have started for his own home if he hadn't seen a cloaked figure on horseback burst forth from the alley behind the house. Richard had the cab follow the rider at a distance, and ended up at the church a short while later.

James had never been particularly religious, and for disturbing as Juli's murder had been, Richard's interaction with James tonight didn't suggest that James was here to find his faith. Seeing a candle moving upward toward the main spire, Richard exited the cab and crept through the shadows of the street. It was time to see what his friend was hiding.

Richard entered the church from a side vestibule off of Wall Street. He had visited the church many times to revel in the peace captured within. He turned left and scurried up a staircase he knew ran directly to the bell tower in the main spire. Pausing at the top, Richard took in a scene for which he was utterly unprepared.

James stood with one boot firmly planted on the windowsill of a small, mullioned window. It had been pried open presumably with the knife still in James' hand. Seeing Richard, James bounced entirely onto the sill, as if to jump.

"James, don't do this! I don't know what's wrong, but this isn't worth it!" Richard stood rooted in horror as his friend inched toward the edge of the sill.

"Richard, you can't begin to imagine what you've walked into by coming here. Leave. You're not a part of this." James turned back toward the open window.

James threw himself from the ledge just after Richard leapt to grab him. Richard felt himself pulled out the window by the inertia of James' movement.

"Noooooo!" As he fell, Richard thought of Alexis and his mother as he heard the church bells begin to ring the hour.

* * *

><p><strong>New York City, Present<strong>

Kate Beckett shook her head and took another sip of coffee. She had been staring holes through her whiteboard for hours. It was now approaching midnight, and she was no closer to solving this case than she had been this afternoon after learning of the familial ties between their victims.

Looking toward her desk, she saw Esposito snoozing in his chair. Head back and mouth wide open, he was emitting loud and steady snores that echoed in the empty bullpen. How had she missed that ruckus? Chuckling softly, Beckett threw the whiteboard eraser at Esposito and hit him squarely in his chest. Esposito startled awake with a loud snort, comically looking around frantically for what had disturbed him. Seeing Beckett laughing across the room, he threw the eraser back at her, missing by feet. The eraser thudded into the whiteboard and fell harmlessly at its base.

"Jeez, scare a man to death why don't you, Beckett?" Esposito griped as he straightened up the papers on his desk.

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have to if your buzz saw impersonation hadn't interrupted my train of thought," Beckett countered crisply. Esposito flushed bright red. "When did Ryan leave?"

Esposito looked puzzled. "Bro left? I don't know, the last time I remember looking at the clock was 10:45, and he was poking through some sort of book at his desk. I was busy with background on our vics. A while later, he shot out of his seat like his tail was on fire and said he had to make a call. He was gone before I could ask him what was up. I just figured honey milk called him and he wanted privacy." Esposito grinned at the antics of his partner. "I didn't know he left. I must have fallen asleep sometime right after that. Did you call him?"

"No, I just realized he was gone before you woke up." Beckett shrugged and grabbed her phone. Hitting the #3 speed dial, she let it ring until she got Ryan's voice mail. Hanging up, she punched in the landline to his apartment, letting it ring 15 times before giving up. She dialed Jenny's number but paused before hitting 'Send.' Remembering that it was almost midnight, she decided not to wake the kind blonde without good cause.

Biting her lip, Beckett turned to Esposito. "He's probably asleep, Beckett. You worried?"

"Aren't you? It's not like him to run off without saying why. All he talks about is Jenny, and if he was going to her, don't you think he would have said so?" Esposito's eyes darkened at what Beckett's words implied.

"You want me to go look for him?" Esposito got up and had his jacket half on before she responded.

"Why don't you try Jenny's, just to be sure. If you don't see his car, go up and knock on her door. I don't want to alarm her if there's no reason to. I'll try his apartment." Kate strode toward the elevator with her car keys in hand and punched the down button. When the elevator arrived, she began to move through the open doors, but stopped when she heard Esposito's voice behind her. She looked back over her shoulder at him.

"Be careful, Beckett. Something feels strange here. This case just doesn't sit right."

"I know, Esposito. I know. Keep me posted." She turned back to the elevator and stepped inside the waiting car.

* * *

><p>Kate parked in front of Ryan's apartment building and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw his car parked down the block. Hopefully she and Esposito had just overreacted.<p>

Looking up toward the building, she saw the only lit window suddenly darken. It was Ryan's apartment. Quickly checking that she had her badge, gun, and spare clip, Beckett was reaching for the door handle when she heard a door slam. Looking up, she saw a figure in a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a dark cap exiting the side door. It looked like Ryan, but in the dark, she couldn't be sure. She quickly texted Esposito. _At R's apt. Following suspect in street. Get here now to check apt._

Beckett got quietly out of the car and surreptitiously followed the dark figure. It wasn't hard for her to avoid the pools of light from the occasional street light and keep her steps light. The detective said a silent prayer of thanks for her academy training. It was then that she saw the glint of a gun tucked into the man's belt. Even in the dark, she knew it wasn't standard NYPD-issue. She hurried to match the man's pace.

The man wound his way through the streets and ended up at Broadway and Wall Street. Beckett took a second to puzzle why he'd headed to this place. Trinity Church? Looking up, she realized she'd lost her man in the shadows.

"Crap!" Beckett muttered and sank into the shadows. She jumped when the church bells began to ring the hour. Midnight.

Feeling her phone vibrate, she saw an incoming call from Esposito. As soon as she answered, Esposito's voice rang in her ear. _"The apartment's empty. Ryan's gone, and his car is still out front."_

Beckett whispered back, "I think the person I followed might be Ryan and –"

She heard a scuffle and a few thumps, then a muffled yell. There were a few more scuffled footsteps, maybe two sets, and then nothing. In the ensuing silence, she could hear Esposito yelling her name through the phone.

"I'm at Wall and Broadway. Trinity Church. Get here in case I need backup. Something's up!" Beckett heard running footsteps just before she saw a tall figure dart out of the alley beside the church. She didn't even pause to hang up the phone or puzzle why the man was wearing a cape before chasing after him.

Beckett made it three blocks from the church before losing the man. He must have silently ducked into some crevice, conveniently using Beckett's running footsteps and heavy breathing as cover. Exasperated and still worried about Ryan, Beckett didn't pause to catch her breath before jogging back toward the church.

Beckett arrived at the church moments later and started down the alley to find Esposito already there. Beckett quickly filled in Esposito on what she'd heard while they were on the phone. Shock and frustration played on her face when she noted alley was empty, other than Esposito and her.

"Well, there's evidence of a struggle here. Blood, too, but the alley was empty when I got here. Where'd you run off to?" The concern in Esposito's eyes was evident.

"I chased someone who ran out of this alley for about three blocks before he disappeared. This was a different someone than came out of Ryan's apartment, the one that I followed here." Beckett looked down as her phone vibrated.

"Now what?" Esposito asked, as Beckett answered the phone.

Beckett listened to the person on the phone and nodded once. Hanging up, she said, "Now? We have another body. Staged and with unidentifiable strangle marks. It's five blocks from here." Meeting Esposito's worried look, she again hit speed dial #3. This time, Ryan answered on the second ring.

"_Ryan."_

"Thank God, we've been looking for you. Where the hell are you?"

"_At home."_

Beckett noted her coworker's terse tone. "Ryan, what's going on? Are you ok?"

"_I'm good. No worries. What's up?"_

She was getting frustrated with his avoidance, but knew she wouldn't get far by harassing him by phone. Since she needed to get her cruiser from his apartment, she changed her tactic. "A body dropped. I'm coming to pick you up. Be ready in 15 minutes."

Beckett sighed as she hung up. This case kept getting more and more frustrating with each moment and she wasn't liking this new turn of events. She turned to Esposito.

"I'm going to head over there to get Ryan. You go to the scene and get started. We'll be there soon." The hard look in her green eyes broached no argument. Esposito nodded and started down the alley as Beckett turned back for Ryan's apartment.

* * *

><p><em>Shit<em>. Ryan looked at the phone in his hand like it might bite, even though the irritated female detective on the other end had already hung up on him. Ryan hadn't gambled on Beckett getting involved in his business so quickly. _Shit, pull it together!_ He looked over at the figure sprawled on his couch. The man was obviously someone important, judging by his dress. Expensive clothes and high-quality leather shoes for _any_ time period. That would definitely compound this situation.

The man on the couch stirred and groaned. His eyes fluttered for a moment, before panic set in and they opened fully. The man bolted off the couch and knocked his shin into the coffee table before Ryan could scramble to his side.

"_Merde!_ Ugh, that hurts!" Seeing Ryan beside him, the man whirled upon him. "Who are you? What happened? Have you kidnapped me?" The man puffed up his chest in what he must have thought was a menacing manner, intended to force answers out of Ryan.

"Ok, hang on, have a seat. I think I can explain, but you should have a seat. I haven't kidnapped you, I promise." The pleading look in Ryan's eyes did nothing to hide the confusion underlying his words. The tall stranger sat down slowly, his eyes still steeled for battle if needed.

"Uh, I don't really know how to explain this in any way that makes sense. I was waiting at Trinity Church because of something I read in a journal. A journal that belonged to James Regent." Ryan paused when he saw the puzzled look on the man's face. Ryan cocked his head in curiosity at the stranger's expression.

The man stood and stepped nose-to-nose with Ryan. The detective struggled not to cringe or duck his head at the invasion of his personal space. "James Regent is a friend of mine. How is it that you've read his private journals? What kind of blackheart are you?"

Ryan swallowed. Obviously, this was going to require a measure of tact and grace he was having trouble conjuring at the moment. Slowly, he said, "I'm his relative. James Regent was my great-great grandfather."

The stranger's eyes popped. Stepping even closer to the detective, he said threateningly, "What do you mean to tell me? That I have somehow crossed bridges in time and stand in front of one of my peers' descendants?"

"Uh. Yes?" Ryan gulped. This was going even worse than he'd expected. He had to regain some control here. "Look, you're a friend of James Regent's?" At the man's nod, Ryan continued. "You followed him to the Trinity Church where he jumped out of a window, correct?" A surprised nod followed. "So that would make you Richard Castle, the Duke of Cambridge."

The shock on the man's face would have been hilarious if Ryan weren't so concerned about how to continue. "Then I'm sure you know that Regent was a brilliant mathematician. His equations were unparalleled. Never understood in his time." The man's head snapped up to stare Ryan directly in the eyes.

Softly but clearly, the man whispered, "What do you mean, 'in his time?'"

Ryan moved to the window and lifted the blinds. It was still dark, but the city's lights, including downtown's skyscrapers were visible. Turning back to Richard, he said, "You and James Regent were friends in 1876. Tonight you followed him in the culmination of his life's work – his equations. He jumped off of Trinity Church through a portal his equations predicted that allowed him to travel to the year 2011. And you followed him."

"Do you mean to tell me, Sir, that I have been transported to the hereafter?" Richard jumped off of the couch and again charged into Ryan's personal space. He grabbed Ryan by the arm in a steely grip.

The younger man shouted in protest, wincing in pain as his knees buckled. Seeing his reaction, Richard immediately let go. As he drew his hand away, he noticed the blood coating his palm. "You've been hurt!"

Ryan panted, standing up straight again. "Look, Mr. Castle, I know this sounds crazy, but it's April 14, 2011. My name is Kevin Ryan, and I'm a detective with the NYPD – uh, the New York City Police Department. I'm a descendant of Mr. Regent's. You need to trust me, your friend is a _very_ bad man."

It was as if Ryan hadn't spoken at all. Richard was still looking at the blood on his hands with a dazed look in his eye. He mumbled, "You've been hurt, Mr. Ryan." Richard tentatively wiped his hand over his pants, looked at his hand again, then furiously tried to scrub off the blood against his thigh.

Ryan waved at Richard to get his attention. "Mr. Castle, I'm fine. I knew what Regent was up to from his journals. I knew where he'd land, because I'd read his entry for tonight. He hadn't said anything about you, but when I got home, I checked the journal again. The entry had two more paragraphs explaining how you had followed him and how he attacked you and another man outside the church. He knocked you out, and then slashed at me with his knife. Fortunately, he just nicked me, but I was dazed and he knocked me to the ground." Ryan paused, then said softly, "In his journal, Regent wrote that he left the two men for dead after attacking them."

Richard sunk his face into his hands. He had no explanation for what had happened. The young man, Ryan, seemed genuine. "I do remember falling out of the window with James. We fell and fell while the church bells tolled. And then the ground was under my feet, and I saw James' fist coming toward me. Then blackness closed over me." Richard looked pleadingly at the other man, begging the young detective to wake him from this nightmare.

Ryan cracked a rue smile at the gentleman and said, "Mr. Castle, I'll do whatever I can to get you back home. This is completely crazy. I'm going to –"

Pounding on the front door interrupted Ryan's thought. The barely-muffled voice of Kate Beckett rang through the door, _"Ryan, open the damn door! NOW!"_

"Shit! That's my boss!" Richard quirked his brow at the detective, wondering silently how this man could have a lady boss if he really was a policeman. He didn't have time to puzzle the crude language used by the enraged yet melodic voice on the other side of the door. Ryan grabbed Richard and shoved him toward the bedroom.

"How am I going to explain you? Get in the other room. Be quiet and –"

The door flew open to reveal a beautiful, tall brunette. Richard's breath caught in his throat when she strode into the room. She looked like an avenging goddess, her green eyes sparking dangerously. Richard took a step back, lest she explode. He continued to eye her curiously, never having seen a woman in such strange attire before. Even in trousers, he found her intoxicating.

"Ryan, what the –" She stopped abruptly, seeing a stranger in the apartment. "Who's this? And what's going on with you?"

"Beckett! Uh…This is…uh, this is…it's…my…" Ryan trailed off, eyes panicked as he tried to make something up.

Richard didn't really understand what was going on, but he was sure that his new 'friend' was going to be in trouble if he couldn't explain himself to the lady. Given Ryan's stuttering, the situation was rapidly deteriorating. Richard decided to rescue the man who had earlier saved him from his traitorous friend. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, catching the woman's eye. Richard swept a graceful bow in her direction and said, "My name is Richard Castle. I'm Mr. Ryan's cousin. How do you do?"

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><p><em>Author's Note: I've decided to include a brief recap in the beginning of the chapters because a friend jokingly said he'd need his own whiteboard to keep up with all of the people and happenings in this story. John, your wish is granted! ("Bam, said the lady!") Also, I've started to add pictures of places and things referenced in the story to my profile. Take a look!<br>_

_This chapter is dedicated to reviewer K.A. for being totally awesome, and to John for not laughing when his whiteboard comment prompted me to admit to having my own whiteboard so *I* could keep this story straight!_

_Please read and review!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing! The gang is all Marlowe's – I'm just borrowing. ::sigh::**

_Previously on K&R: Richard went to visit James Regent and followed him to 2011 by jumping off of Trinity Church. Ryan has Regent's journals, knows that he's a bad dude and up to no good, and was waiting for him at the church. Ryan takes Castle home and explains where he currently is. Castle is smitten with the lovely, rampaging Detective Beckett._

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><p><strong>New York City, Present<strong>

Beckett had been on the warpath; Ryan was lying to her and she set out toward his apartment on a quest for blood. Or truth. Same difference, if Ryan continued stonewalling her. She'd been fully ready to 'rip Ryan a new one,' so to speak, as she charged up the apartment stairwell. She'd been so focused on that task, that after bursting through the door she'd barely registered the other man's presence. Until he bowed to her and introduced himself, that is.

Her surprise must have been written on her face; she'd been so focused on Ryan that she'd frozen like a deer in headlights when the stranger spoke. As he said his name, _Richard Castle_, Beckett's anger was amazingly replaced by curiosity. The man didn't speak like any New Yorker she'd ever met, and he looked like he'd come from a Sergeant Pepper tribute concert. She gapingly looked him up and down, wondering how this man could possibly be related to her detective. A few seconds later, her wandering eyes met the stranger's expectant gaze, snapping her out of her silent musings.

"Oh, uh, Beckett, NYPD. Nice to meet ya." She extended her hand, intending to shake his, but paused when he shook his head and cocked an eyebrow.

"Beckett?" he questioned.

"Katherine Beckett." Ryan supplied, realizing women in the 19th century wouldn't have introduced themselves by their last names.

Beckett shot Ryan a dirty glare for using her given name. She'd almost forgotten he was there, despite her anger moments before, in her surprise over the stranger. Mr. Castle.

Turning back to the man, she fully extended her hand and said, "Kate. _Kate_ Beckett." She gasped in surprise when the man dexterously grabbed her hand around the fingers, flipped it palm down, and drew it toward him.

He deftly bent to place a whisper of a kiss to the back of her hand. He rose again, met her eyes and said softly, "It's my pleasure, Katherine." The contact stopped her mid-breath.

At Ryan's snigger in the background, Beckett broke eye contact and shook her head to clear it. She leveled a piercing gaze on the younger detective.

"Ryan, hallway. Now!" She spun on her heel and marched back out of the still-open door.

Richard looked quizzically at Ryan, trying to assess a situation that was far outside of his life experience. He wasn't sure if he'd helped or hurt his new friend's cause simply by acting as he normally would.

Ryan shrugged and clapped Richard on the shoulder. He quietly said, "Thanks for covering me, man. I'm sorry about that, she's not a nice person when she's mad. Right now, she's _pissed_ at me because she thinks I'm lying to her. Just wait here, I'll be right back. And whatever happens, just play along!"

_Covering? Play along?_ Richard was going to need a dictionary of modern speech just to understand everyone if they kept speaking in codes! Although Mr. Ryan spoke in a confusing manner, his point was clear enough – try to fit in. Richard needed to keep acting like he belonged in this upside down world.

Because Richard was pretty sure this wasn't an elaborate hoax or some bizarre indigestion-induced dream, but honest-to-goodness reality. He surreptitiously pinched his face as Ryan walked into the hall and shut the apartment door, just to be sure he wasn't dreaming. _Ow!_ Rubbing his sore cheek, the furrow in Richard's brow deepened as he pondered the strange behavior of the breathtaking woman whom he could now hear chastising Mr. Ryan in the hallway. Women here were surely different from all the women of his past acquaintance.

Richard crept toward the door, debating the merit in what he was contemplating. Deciding that he didn't want to be caught off-guard in this new reality, he put his ear to the door. He figured he might be able to learn something useful from the conversation in the hall. Or at least not incur any further wrath from the beautiful brunette.

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><p>Out in the hallway, Ryan winced when Beckett grabbed him by his injured upper arm and pushed him into the wall. Noticing the look of pain etched in her detective's face, she narrowed her eyes at him.<p>

"I saw you go running out of your apartment earlier. I followed you to the church. You have 30 seconds to tell me exactly what the _hell_ is going on here!" She crossed her arms and moved further into Ryan's personal space. She expected answers.

"Look, Beckett, it's hard for me to explain –"

"You damn well better try! Starting now!" Beckett growled.

Ryan swallowed nervously, but met her eyes. "My cousin, Richard Castle, called me tonight. I didn't know he was in town, he just called me out of the blue in a panic. He said he'd been mugged in an alley, knocked out cold. It was only a few blocks from here, so I ran over there to go get him." Beckett's eyes narrowed at the word 'alley.' Ryan hated being on the receiving end of her intimidating interrogation stare.

"By Trinity Church?" Beckett gritted out.

"Yes," Ryan said warily. He wasn't sure how much of the events in the alley Beckett had witnessed. He decided to gamble on the fact that she couldn't have been close enough to hear what had gone on there. "I found Castle in the alley there and brought him back here. He was pretty shook up." Ryan rubbed the back of his neck with his injured arm and winced at the stinging sensation that followed.

"What's wrong with your arm, Ryan?" Beckett's gaze barely softened upon noticing his injury, which meant Ryan wasn't out of the woods yet.

"I, uh, cut it on some broken glass." _Think, Ryan, think!_ He had to make this more believable somehow, and quick. "Uh, well, Castle was kind of out of it when I found him. He shoved me, thinking I was his attacker, and I stumbled back against a broken window." Ryan tried to look as innocent as possible.

Beckett sighed. It sounded plausible, but she could see that Ryan was nervous. And she still didn't like how connected this all seemed to be to the latest murder. The geographic proximity worried her. Maybe she was just overreacting after so much time on the case without sleep.

Remembering the man inside the apartment and his crazy anachronistic attire, she asked, "You call your cousin 'Castle?'" Beckett finally relaxed out of her interrogation stance, giving Ryan a marginal amount of personal space and peace of mind.

"Well, he went through this phase as a kid where he'd only let people call him by his last name. It kind of stuck…" Ryan trailed off lamely. He shrugged, hoping Beckett wouldn't bother him any more about this mysterious new relative of his. As luck would have it, it only made the senior detective more curious.

"You've never mentioned this guy before. And here I thought that I knew about all of your Irish clansmen." Ryan ducked his head, and Beckett decided to have a little fun with the embarrassed man. "What does this Castle do for a living? Sing with a Beatles tribute band?" Beckett struggled to hold back a grin at Ryan's discomfort. She was still irked that Ryan had charged in alone to help his cousin, but she could understand his hesitancy in mixing his work and family life. She believed she knew her detective well enough to know that he wasn't involved in the current murder, even though she was sure he knew more about the investigation than he was offering up. She'd question him about it later, when he wasn't expecting it. For right now, she wasn't going to pass up a golden opportunity to make him squirm over his very un-cop-like relation.

"Castle's a, uh…a writer. He likes to get into character. Dress up, walk through scenes. You know, really live through what he writes." Ryan held his breath, hoping this interrogation would end soon.

"So what does he write?"

_Crap!_ Ryan cast about in the corners of his brain for something he'd read recently. Harry Potter, no…true crime, could work…mystery! "Um, mysteries, I think?" Ryan's voice squeaked a bit. Beckett decided to go in for the kill. This just kept getting better and better.

"I _love_ mystery novels. Patterson, Cannell, that whole genre. How come I've never heard of Richard Castle before?"

Ryan squirmed. He was getting deeper and deeper into this lie with Beckett, and he seriously doubted he was smart enough to keep it up indefinitely. Opting for a bit of truth, Ryan said, "You know, we're really not that close. I haven't seen him in a few years, and we haven't had a chance to catch up. He might use a pen name, for all I know…"

Beckett cracked an amused grin. "I'm just messing with you, Ryan. Seriously, you can tell me all about your family later. Right now, we've got another murder to deal with. We've gotta go."

* * *

><p>Inside the apartment, Richard's mind was reeling. Did Mr. Ryan just tell Katherine that he was a <em>writer<em>? It looked like Richard was ironically getting his wish – apparently it was socially acceptable to be a writer here. He just wasn't sure why the lady had accused him of singing tributes to beetles, but he didn't have time to contemplate that. He jumped back just as the door again swung open and tried unsuccessfully to look like he hadn't been eavesdropping.

"Uh, Castle, we need to investigate a murder a few blocks away. I have to go with Beckett. Will you be OK here alone?" Ryan stood a few steps behind Katherine and furtively shook his head 'no' at Richard. Ryan mimed writing something at Richard, which caused the man to furrow his brows in confusion yet again.

Beckett swung around to look at Ryan, wondering what had the writer so confused. She didn't have time for games. She gave Ryan a pointed glare.

Richard wasn't sure what Mr. Ryan wanted, but he knew that he wasn't about to stay alone in a strange home in some crazy future version of New York City. So far, Mr. Ryan had been kind to him, and Richard wasn't about to let the young detective out of his sight. Time to think fast!

"Katherine, I'm sure my cousin has told you that I am a writer. I like to observe the places I write about and play-act the scenes I write. Since I write mysteries, I was hoping you might…well, that you would, ah, consent to me accompanying you on your investigation?" At the beautiful detective's look of exasperation, Richard flashed her the most charming smile he could muster. He saw the negative answer in her eyes waver, and couldn't help adding a somewhat wheedling, "Please?"

Beckett's "Yes," escaped her mouth before she realized what had happened. She'd had every intention of forcing Ryan's strangely-garbed cousin to stay in the apartment, but like a naïve young girl, she'd caved at his charismatic smile. Snapping back to reality, she chided herself for staying up so many nights in a row with this case. Obviously, the lack of sleep was affecting her ability to think.

Ryan spoke up after seeing the internal emotional war playing over the female detective's face. "Do you mind if I take him to the scene in my car? He's still probably a bit traumatized after that mugging. It's getting kind of late, and if I bring my own car, we can all get some much-needed sleep sooner because you won't have to drop us off." Ryan nodded his head to emphasize his point. Richard flashed another drop-dead gorgeous smile at her.

"Oh, fine," Beckett grunted. She couldn't believe she'd allowed this to happen. "Just keep him from compromising my investigation!" Beckett threw a piercing glance at Ryan and turned to leave the apartment. Ryan and Richard hurried to follow the whirl of her trench coat out the door.

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><p>Richard stared in wonder at the car in front of him. He had yet to see a horse or wagon in this place, and assumed that the sleek metal beast in front of him was a futuristic mode of transportation. Ryan noticed his look and mouthed <em>'Later'<em> to him.

Ryan waved to Beckett as she got in her car, and turned back to Castle. "I'm pretty sure you don't have cars – automobiles – back in 1876. These replaced the horse and carriage over 100 years ago. They have an engine inside that does the work of the horse."

"How extraordinary! Can I see?" Richard's eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning.

"Not right now. We have to get going. Climb in." Ryan opened the passenger door to his car and motioned for Richard to sit. Ryan slid behind the wheel, and Richard watched Ryan buckle his seat belt. Richard struggled valiantly with his own until Ryan snapped the buckle in place.

Richard's curiosity finally got the best of him. "Mr. Ryan, are all women like your Ms. Beckett? Katherine…" At least Richard had waited to ask until Beckett was out of hearing range.

"First, just call me Ryan. Second, I guess you heard what went on in the hallway, huh?" Richard nodded. "I'm sorry, I hope I didn't offend you with anything I said. I had to explain you in a way that didn't make both of us look like crazy people."

Richard nodded again. "No offense taken, I understand why you did that. I'm sorry to have caused such upheaval in your life."

"Well, I didn't plan on acquiring a 19th century Duke when all of this started, that's for sure." When Richard looked inquiringly at him, Ryan continued, "Like I told you earlier, I didn't have any idea that you'd come forward with Regent. His journal didn't mention it until after you got here. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on. And now we have another murder, to boot."

Richard took in the weary look on the younger man's face. "What can I do to help, Mr. Ryan?" At Ryan's raised eyebrow, Richard tried again, "Ryan. Not Mister." Ryan nodded in amusement "Ryan, I'm sure that my presence could have gotten you in a lot of trouble with Katherine. And I don't imagine she would have believed our story, even if she had been in a more pleasant mood."

Ryan cracked a wry grin. "Yeah, she's not normally that wound up. She thinks that I'm lying to her, hence the interrogation in the hallway. I just haven't told her the whole truth because of the time-travelling-killer thing. The NYPD didn't earn its reputation by relying on theories like that."

"I suppose not," Richard agreed. He thought back to the overheard conversation in the hallway. "Why did you tell Katherine that I was a writer?" Richard was most curious to hear why the detective had chosen this as his profession.

Ryan looked at his passenger, almost as if sizing the man up. "I'm not sure. It seemed fitting, and the only other plausible explanation for your outfit would have been for you to be an actor. I figured you probably wouldn't appreciate that, since actors weren't considered really classy in your time, right?"

"My mother always appreciated the theater, but would be scandalized if her only son had considered taking to the stage. Not as if I don't know that she tried her hand at acting," Richard muttered more to himself than his companion. "Strangely enough, I do indeed enjoy writing, and would happily publish my work. However, writing is considered to be below my station in life. So I keep my work to myself, and much like James, I have many full journals of my own. I am pleased that I may have my chance to be a writer in another life without truly leaving New York." The writer's eyes sparkled with humor, despite the strange situation.

Ryan drove in silence for a moment. "We're going to figure this all out. Eventually. I promise."

"Oddly enough, I'm not worried. You inspire my trust, Ryan." Castle smiled genuinely, for he really did trust this man. After all, not many strangers would step in to save another person's life the way Ryan had. Castle was grateful.

Ryan looked a little embarrassed at Castle's confession. "Well, let's try to gain some of Beckett's trust back. When we get to the scene, try to be quiet and don't touch anything. Police work has changed, Castle. Science and crime solving have advanced more than you can imagine in the last 120 years. Just stay close to me and whatever you do, don't bother Beckett." Ryan glanced over at Castle, who looked like he could barely stay seated, despite being buckled into the seat.

"Once in a while, where…or rather _when_ I am from, I consult the police on puzzling cases. Perhaps I could be helpful here?" Excitement lit up Castle's face, making him look boyish and energetic.

Ryan shook his head. "Seriously bro, you're going to make Beckett flip out." Castle was obviously confused by the slang, so Ryan explained, "She's going to yell at you. Or worse. She doesn't like anyone in her business when she's working. Sometimes, she barely tolerates my partner, Esposito, and me."

At the mention of Beckett, Castle's face became wistful. "Tell me more about Katherine, please."

"Oh no. No, Castle. She's a thoroughly independent woman. I see that look on your face. Trust me, even modern men can't handle her." Ryan chuckled.

"So you're not…well, I mean…that is to say…" Richard fumbled over his words.

"Are you asking if she and I are together?" At Castle's silence, Ryan said, "No way. She's my boss, and I've got a wonderful girlfriend. Jenny. You'll have to meet her, she's an amazing, beautiful woman."

_So too is Katherine, I believe_. Richard's memory of her whirling out the door and down the hall in a cloud of chestnut curls replayed in his mind.

A moment later, Ryan pulled the car into a spot along the curb and turned it off while Castle remained lost in thought. Ryan took a deep breath, and prepared to enter a crime scene involving a time-travelling killer with a 19th century Duke in tow. He wouldn't have believed this morning that he'd ever think that sentence, no less live it before the day ended.

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><p><em>AN: Thank you SO much to my lovely reviewers and everyone who has favorited and alerted this story! I'm tickled and thrilled by your interest – you're the best!_

_Please read and review – I know this chapter came a day late, but great reviews may just equal TWO updates over the July 4__th__ weekend!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Previously: Richard (finally) meets Kate. Beckett interrogates the heck out of Ryan about his earlier escapades, and Ryan makes up a writing career for his "cousin," Castle. Castle is a champion eavesdropper and learns some modern slang. Beckett's 'avenging goddess' behavior has Richard completely besotted._

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. But I do have S1 and S2 on DVD…**

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><p><span>Chapter 6<span>

It was like déjà vu. The details were startlingly similar. Picture perfect room, the epitome of champagne taste and the checkbook to back it, judging by the victim's clothing. It was another socialite murder, the victim posed as if carrying on daily business. It looked like Beckett's headache was far from receding.

Like the other victims, the man looked like he had fallen asleep mid-stride in his life. His body was bent over a trash bin that was within easy reach of the controls for the household trash incinerator. The incinerator had obviously been scaled down from something more industrial in order to fit the residential setting and was far from commonplace, even in New York.

As Beckett looked the body over, she couldn't dodge the niggling feeling that she was missing something. It was more than the déjà vu she'd originally felt – it ran deeper. Almost like waking from a dream that was so real that it took you a few minutes to convince yourself it hadn't actually happened. She rubbed her hand over her neck as the hairs there stood up. It felt almost like someone was watching her.

Turning toward the penthouse door, she realized someone _was_ watching her. For a detective, it was almost disgraceful that she'd been so engrossed in the crime scene that she hadn't noticed Ryan and his cousin's arrival. And now the walking anachronism was staring holes through her.

_Great_, Beckett thought. This day just kept getting better._ Not only does he dress like a psychotic escapee from a Renaissance Faire, he stares like a creepy stalker, too._ Fantastic.

Esposito thankfully chose that moment to return from questioning the neighbors.

"Yo, bro, took you long enough to get here," Esposito snarked. His tone spoke volumes – he wasn't happy with Ryan's solo adventures and late arrival.

Ryan ducked his head in apology. "Yeah, well, I had a kinda rough night…"

"I heard. What gives?" Esposito crossed his arms, eyes steely. Much to Beckett's amusement, Esposito wasn't about to let Ryan off the hook.

"Just forget about it for now, ok?" Ryan pleaded.

Esposito turned to Castle, looking him up and down. Cocking an eyebrow, he asked, "This your cousin?"

Not one to back down from perceived adversity, Richard drew himself up to his full height and drew in a breath. "My name is Richard Alexander William Mountbatten Castle." He said his name with a hint of pride, as he had been raised to do, and locked a level stare on the shorter detective's unbelieving one.

It was like a fish has spoken. A confused expression crossed Esposito's face, but it quickly subsided to be replaced by a peevish look. As Esposito opened his mouth to speak, Ryan jumped in to keep the situation from getting out of hand. "Esposito, this is my cousin, Rick Castle. Castle, my partner, Javier Esposito."

Esposito eyed Castle, who bristled under the scrutiny. "So clearly you must be a man out of time. Or Sergeant Pepper." Ryan drew back from his testy partner. Although normally friendly, Esposito seemed to be marking his turf despite his current displeasure with Ryan. No one came between the stocky detective and his partner, even family it seemed.

The sound of laugher like rich and mellow wind chimes made all three men spin around so quickly, they should have gotten whiplash. Kate Beckett had tears in her eyes as she laughed at the subtle turf war between her detective and the bizarrely-garbed man.

Wiping her eyes, Beckett's laughter subsided. "I thought the same thing, Esposito! Power down. _Ricky_ is a _writer_, Ryan tells me. He gets in character to, you know, act it out." She swallowed an errant chuckle at the thought. "Probably writing some sort of romance novella set in 'Ye Olde New Yorke City.'" Beckett sighed in amusement, and raised the hem of her shirt to her face to dry her eyes.

Ryan and Esposito turned back to each other, never noticing Richard's eyes nearly pop out of his head. He couldn't take his eyes off of the sight of Beckett's chiseled stomach, exposed as she tugged on her shirt hem. As she dropped it and looked up, a moderately-embarrassed Richard turned stiffly to Ryan and Esposito, who appeared to be making up.

"Guess a love of crazy history runs in your family, huh? Seriously, bro. If you ever start dressing like your cousin, I'll shoot you myself." Ryan grinned as he gave his partner one of their signature fist pounds.

"And Lanie and I will help him destroy the evidence," Beckett tossed over her shoulder as she wandered back to the body.

Esposito grinned at Ryan and nodded, then turned to give Richard a wink to signal no hard feelings. "Nice to meet you, Castle."

_Is everyone in this place mad?_ Richard thought. _Fighting turned to brotherly love within seconds, all manner of strange bonding behaviors, and women comfortable baring half their bodies. Gorgeous women…madness! _Richard shook his head to clear it when Katherine's voice broke through his reverie.

"Esposito, can you look through the rest of the apartment? Ryan, tell your sidekick to keep his hands off of things. I don't want any of the evidence compromised." Beckett turned back to the body to continue her examination. Esposito wandered toward the bedrooms, leaving Ryan and Richard in the living room with Beckett.

As Ryan pretended to peruse the book shelves and coffee table, Richard followed him like a shadow, whispering the whole way.

"Do people in this time always speak as if the subject they are discussing was not present?" Richard stopped walking as he awaited the answer.

Ryan turned sheepishly toward Castle. Keeping his voice low, Ryan responded, "I'm sorry about that, Castle. Esposito was upset that he had to hear about you from Beckett, not to mention being out of the loop on our little adventure earlier. He's my partner; that means something. We're supposed to be able to trust each other, no exceptions." Castle nodded as he processed the statement. "He's a good guy, a good friend once he gets to know you. He wasn't trying to offend you. He was upset because he was out of the loop." Seeing Richard's questioning gaze at the unfamiliar slang, Ryan said, "He's like my brother. He would have been there at the church if I'd called him to back me up. But I didn't." Ryan put his hands out, palms up, as if awaiting Richard's forgiveness.

"I see. He is keeping you at a distance until you prove your loyalty to him. Interesting." Ryan turned back to his examination of the bookshelf, leaving Richard to his own musings. _Perhaps there IS some integrity in this place. Everything else might stand on its head, but people still love, still trust. _Richard's sight landed on Beckett, causing him to physically start as her bare midriff flashed through his mind.

"Ryan?"

"Mmmh?"

"Do all women here behave so boldly as Katherine?"

Ryan slowly turned back toward Richard, stalling so he would have time to think. "Women have changed since your time, Castle. They've become dangerous." Ryan grinned at Richard's puzzled countenance.

"Dangerous?" Now Castle looked furtively at Beckett, as if trying to gauge just how wary he need be around her.

"Yeah. Take Beckett, for example. She carries a gun, can incapacitate criminals, has a tongue sharp as a knife when she's under-caffeinated, and bosses Esposito and me around every day. Dangerous woman, right?" Ryan nodded his head vigorously to bolster his point.

Richard looked thoughtful. "I was thinking more of her trousers, unrestrained locks, and how she showed the skin of her midsection in front of men. That would be unseemly in a woman in my time…"

Following Richard's distracted gaze, Ryan saw Beckett bite her lip and rock back on her heels beside the body. She tossed her hair over her shoulders with a shake of her head. His gaze wandered back to his ducal friend, who was completely enthralled. Ryan realized the man was far from scandalized by her appearance and demeanor.

"Castle, that's all fairly common here. I don't think –"

"Yo! Ryan, what're you and Sergeant Pepper up to? Whisperin' like school girls over here instead of working, huh?" He said it with stern tone, despite the hint of a joking smile.

Shooting Ryan a conspiratorial smile, Richard whirled on Esposito. "Is it your habit, sir, to simply enter a conversation without introduction?"

Esposito backed up half a step before holding his ground. "Ren Faire, we were already introduced…"

Ryan doubled over laughing at his partner's startled look and weak come-back. Richard chuckled and shrugged at Esposito. _This place is much like home. Wit is the substance of life, and can be crafted if you know those around you._ Richard was inordinately pleased that his teasing had momentarily unsettled the intense detective. He decided to let the man down easily, since he still looked wound up from earlier. "I am, after all, in character. I'm writing the part of a 19th century duke. Good to know that I can effectively channel his commanding presence."

Esposito cracked a smile and held a fist out to Richard. Mimicking Ryan's earlier action, Richard made a fist and bumped it against Esposito's. Shaking his head, Esposito said, "Man, we've gotta work on your sense of humor. It's almost as bad as Ryan's." He turned to his partner with a dirty look and said, "That wasn't that funny, bro, letting him do that to me."

"It _so_ was."

"Really, no."

Richard wandered away from the friendly bickering toward Beckett. There was an attractive, shorter woman standing next to her. The two were deep in conversation when Castle arrived at Beckett's side.

Noticing his approach, Beckett abruptly cut off the conversation. Looking to Castle, she said, "Uh, Lanie, this is Ryan's cousin, Richard Castle. He's a novelist, visiting to do some research. Mr. Castle, Dr. Lanie Parish, Medical Examiner."

"How do you do?" Richard asked, as he reached for her hand.

"Nice to meet you." Lanie held up her gloved hand in apology, thinking Richard intended to shake it. He was a little disappointed that he couldn't kiss her hand and see her reaction, to compare it to Katherine's. He was struggling to understand these open and intelligent modern women and their utterly unpredictable behavior.

Lanie subtly looked the man up and down, then not-so-subtly cocked an eyebrow at Beckett. "Girl, you didn't tell me you were the role-playing type. I could have set you up with a really hot guy who liked dressing like a –"

"Lanie, enough!" Beckett's cheeks flushed faintly pink in discomfort.

_Beautiful, absolutely captivating_, Richard thought, seeing a feminine reaction with which he was familiar, for once. Noticing Richard's gaze, Beckett hurriedly turned to Ryan and Esposito, still bickering across the room, and whistled one long, shrill note. The boys hurried over at Beckett's unspoken summons.

"Ok, Lanie, what've we got?" The smaller woman nodded and quickly shifted into business mode.

Lanie squatted down level with the body. "Victim is a white male, age approximately 38. Cause of death is strangulation. Note the unidentified ligature marks on the neck here." Lanie pointed to the textured line with her pen, then stood. "There's little in the way of defensive marks, so I'm guessing it wasn't much of a struggle. The attacker probably approached him from behind. The scene was staged with the victim near the trash incinerator, although the initial attack likely didn't happen here. He's been dead for about an hour or so, but I'll know more once I get him back to the morgue."

"Thanks, Lanie." Turning to Esposito, Beckett asked, "Do we have an ID?"

"Yeah, the neighbors confirmed the apartment belongs to 37 year old Matthew Compton. Vic matches their description of him."

Richard swallowed audibly. It couldn't be. "Compton, like Jackson Compton? The Earl of Duquesne?" Richard thought back to the young man he'd met in the park earlier that day, although it felt like a lifetime ago with all that had happened. Ashley's brother's name was Jackson, if he recalled correctly.

Beckett looked disbelievingly at Richard. "No, Matthew Compton is one of the city's well-known wealthy elites. Founding owner of no less than 3 businesses, Compton's name was associated with a cutting-edge technologies that were changing the face of New York City. Clean energy, green trash collection and storage, and biodegradable plastics were all part of his empire." Richard was still staring at the body as if he'd seen a ghost. It was really starting to freak her out.

"I can't believe it, the crusader for a cleaner New York City is dead. Shame," Esposito said. "Guess that explains the trash incinerator," he mused.

Ryan didn't have time to think before his mouth moved of its own accord. "No, he's right. I know that name. It's the Top Hat Murders again." _So much for letting this all unfold without getting the team too involved_, Ryan thought. Beckett was smart, she wasn't going to miss the connection that he'd inadvertently let slip.

"What's up with you and all the history lately? Gonna start calling you 'Encyclopedia Ryan.'" Esposito teased.

Ryan shot him a withering look. "It was the same sort of MO – murders of wealthy people with almost pristine crime scenes. Very mysterious at the time. The whole string of them went unsolved. Ironic, when you think about all the murders we've been seeing."

"Coincidental," Richard muttered. He still hadn't looked turned away from the body.

"Huh?"

"It's coincidental that the murders are similar. It would be ironic if the old murders had actually been solved, yet yours became cold despite all of your technology." Castle continued to look sadly upon the victim.

"Sorry," Ryan said, shrugging his shoulders. "Must be a writer thing," he whispered to Beckett, Esposito, and Lanie.

Beckett rolled her eyes. "You were saying?"

"Oh yeah! The Top Hat Murders. Jackson Compton, the youngest son of the Earl of Duquesne was murdered in the late 1870's. Like the rest of the murders, his was never solved."

Beckett bit her lip, deep in thought. Esposito started to speak, but she held her hand up to silence him. _Wealthy people, social elites, all dead. Two different time periods, but similar murders. Similar victim name, even. A copy cat, maybe? _Closing her eyes, she asked, "Our victim, he could be related to the Compton from the Top Hat Murders, right?"

Ryan sighed in relief that's she'd put it together on her own, but attempted to keep a steady face. He wasn't in the clear yet, given his extracurricular involvement in this case. The more connections Beckett made on her own, the better it would be for him. And for Castle. Ryan could see the wheels turning in Beckett's head. Tentatively, he said, "Yeah, could be. Not as common of a name as Smith. Old family wealth would have been helpful to Compton in setting up his businesses."

Beckett's eyes remained closed as she spoke again. "And Powell and Thorndale had a common murdered relative, Ryan?"

"Malcolm Rothschild." At that moment, Beckett's eyes flew open and a predatorial smile appeared on her face. She smelled blood and was hot on its trail, chasing the lead that might finally crack this case open. Esposito rubbed his chin, following the thought pattern. Lanie gasped, making the same connection as Beckett.

"I want all of the information you two can search up on the Top Hat Murders. I want to know every name, every date, every piece of information you can find on them. I'll check with records to see if any of the original police investigation notes still exist." Beckett glanced over at the body again only to see Richard, now kneeling, reaching a finger toward the victim's throat.

"Hey, what did I say about touching! Don't touch the body!" Beckett snapped, startling Richard. She lightly smacked his shoulder, and he sank back on his heels.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't touch it! It's just that the mark on his neck…I've, well…I've seen it before." He was so apologetic, that between his adorably contrite face and the words he spoke, Beckett stopped in her tracks.

Richard, meanwhile, was nearly having a panic attack. He had been thinking of the marks on Juliana's neck, noticing the similarity, and the words had simply come out of his mouth of their own accord. _How could I be so careless! What possible explanation can I give for having seen something so gruesome? Something that's unfamiliar even to these detectives?_

Beckett was oblivious to Richard's internal war. "Wait. You've seen this before? We've been wracking our brains for weeks trying to figure out what caused them. What is it?"

Ah, the questions for which Richard had no answer! _Think quickly, or this woman may kill you in the future. Cutting off the past. In the future. Oh, this is insanity!_ Richard desperately searched his brain for a plausible answer, his thoughts chasing each other like squirrels in Central Park on a sunny day. He was struggling to maintain his composure.

Richard stood up slowly, trying to determine if the detective's mood would shift violently once more at the words he was contemplating. Debating the necessary margin of space to escape her possible wrath, he backed up and said, "Well, I don't know what _actually_ caused it." Beckett's ensuing glare made him cringe and back up an extra step, just to be safe. Juli's face swirled through the gale occupying his mind. Thinking back to her murder, he struggled to find something plausible to explain how he'd witnessed a 135-year old murder scene. _Think…policemen, notebooks, her books, a box…by her desk. The box! A camera!_ "I saw it. In a photograph!"

Beckett crossed her arms and leveled her interrogation stare at him. _Not good! _Richard had intended only to correct his slip, not expecting he'd instead pique her interest. _Merde!_

The look of sheer panic on Ryan's face at his lie would have been amusing, had Richard not been so flustered himself. "Ah, well, you see, it was in a book. About the murders. I read it…a long time ago…" Richard stuttered.

Beckett looked thoughtful, her ire dissipated. "Ok, writer boy. I wanna see that photograph. Find it for me."

Quashing the panic before it could alight upon his face, Richard thought, _God help me!_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Holy smokes, there were over 1,000 hits for this story last month, by more than 440 people! Thank you SO much to all of my wonderful readers, especially those who left reviews, and everyone who alerted this story! You're fantastic, and I'm so amazed by your kindness! I do my best to respond to each and every one of you, because I really appreciate your support. Also, special thank yous go out to __**phnxgrl**__, my most loyal reviewer, and to __**PuffingNoise**__, whose enthusiastic review put the BIGGEST smile on my face. "Yesssss!"_

_On a less happy note, I'm sorry that this chapter was much later than I anticipated! I'm in the final countdown to my professional licensing exam (July 26-28), and there's still so much to study! I meant to have this chapter written for the 4__th__ of July weekend, but life (studying) interrupted. I know that I also promised to do weekly updates, but given my exam – and the fact that if I don't pass it, I can't get a job – I'm going to have to put the next chapter on hold until the end of this month. As soon as the exam is over, I'll get my life back, which means you get regular updates again :) Thank you so much for your patience in advance!_


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